


Tibshelf

by Kainosite



Category: Political RPF - UK 21st c.
Genre: Brain Bleach Required, Cross-Party Relationship, M/M, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-20
Updated: 2011-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-24 19:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kainosite/pseuds/Kainosite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dennis Skinner finally manages to drag Gove out to Derbyshire to visit Tibshelf Community School and see the dilapidated state of the buildings, but Michael's eagerness to liaise with his Labour colleagues proves a bit more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tibshelf

**Author's Note:**

> "Tibshelf, or: How Dennis Skinner Learned to Stop Worrying and Love a Tory"
> 
> Written for the [Gove rarepair party challenge](http://lolitics-meme.livejournal.com/9756.html?thread=23170844#t23170844) at the Lolitics meme.

"The roof really _is_ held up with pit props," Gove says wonderingly, giving one of the supports a cautious poke as if he's afraid he might destabilize it and send the building crashing down on their heads.

Dennis glares at the back of his fluffy, fluff-filled skull. "When I speak before the House I make sure to tell the _truth_. Not like some."

"Quite," says the Tory absently. Like as not the reference to his own conspicuous failures in that department has sailed straight over his head, or bounced off the impenetrable shield of smug arrogance that surrounds him. Dennis glares harder. Gove prods the pit prop again. "I don't suppose we could say it's a tribute to the cultural heritage of the region, commemorated in our schools through this creative architectural-"

"No," says Dennis.

Gove sighs. "I didn't think we could. Of course, if the previous Labour Government had-"

"Roof fell in under Thatcher," Dennis interrupts, before the rant can gain momentum.

"So you've had thirteen years to fix it!" Gove says.

"Twenty-one year since that roof fell in. Thatcher didn't fix it, Major didn't fix it, Blair didn't fix it, Brown was meaning to fix it but he ran out of time. Don't reckon you lot are going to do a damn thing about it either."

At this Gove turns around, the smooth, childlike lines of his face made angular and strangely lumpy by an expression of puzzled hurt. "I think that's very unfair, Mr. Skinner. I came all the way out here to see it, didn't I?"

"So did Ken Clarke come out to see it, and David Blunkett and Ruth Kelly after him. And it's been held up by pit props twenty-one year."

"But I _do_ mean to fix it!" Gove protests. "Have a little faith!"

"It took you a month to scrap BSF but a year to come up with a scheme to replace it. Didn't take you half that long to get your free schools funded with the money that should've gone to rebuilding this one. I have faith in lots of things, Mr. Gove, but Tory Education Secretaries ain't one of 'em, and I've seen nothing from you to convince me otherwise."

"What _would_ it take to convince you?" Gove asks softly. It might be Dennis' imagination, but he seems to be standing closer now, and he's looking up at Dennis from beneath lowered lids in a way that's frankly disturbing.

Dennis snorts. "You could fix the roof, for a start."

"I meant in the more immediate future," Gove says, an edge of irritation creeping in beneath the cajoling tone. He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes for a moment, seemingly to get a better grip on his temper, because when he speaks again his voice is coaxing once more. "Surely there's _something_ I could offer, some accommodation we could reach?"

He reaches out and grabs the tip of Dennis' red tie, rolling it between his fingers. That is definitely _not_ Dennis's imagination- there is a Tory minister fondling his tie. Dennis gives him his most incredulous and sarcastic glare, but Gove's eyes are lowered submissively and he doesn't notice.

"Does this usually work on people?" Dennis asks, appalled but too long accustomed to the corridors of power and the sordid games that go on in their more shadowy corners to be entirely surprised.

Gove breaks character for a moment to smirk. "You'd be amazed."

"I wouldn't. I've served in Parliament forty-one years, and the corruption I've seen would make you sick." Dennis recalls belatedly that Gove is best mates with Rupert Murdoch. "Maybe not you. Decent people."

Gove drops his tie and finally meets his eyes, his own wide and earnest. His pupils are blown, and that _is_ a surprise- a whore, then, but a skillful whore. Better that than a clumsy one. Dennis has always said a man should know his work.

"It's hardly corruption, Mr. Skinner. I'm not trying to buy your silence; I wouldn't dream of it. Only a fool would think he had any hope of muzzling the Beast of Bolsover. You'll keep banging on about these pit props until the roof is fixed, and rightly so. No, I'd just like to reassure you that the Government is listening to your concerns, and that we want very much to help in any way we can. Due to the financial predicament we were left in by the previous Government I can't make any _spending_ commitments, but if there's anything else I can do, anything at all..."

He runs his fingers up Dennis' tie. Dennis takes up Gove's soft, warm hand in his own and deposits it back at his side.

"You're paid a very generous wage to do a fair day's work. I don't imagine the people of Surrey Heath expect you to spend it on your back. The answer is no, Mr. Gove."

Gove ought to be relieved. Dennis likes to think he keeps himself fit for a man his age, and his face never broke any mirrors, but at seventy-nine he's not likely to be in the running for GQ's politician of the year. And while Gove may not hate him personally- Gove seems to like everyone, in a slightly condescending way- he certainly hates everything Dennis stands for. The Tory's done a fine job of feigning eagerness, but Dennis isn't fool enough to fall for that. That's part of the package: a quick fuck and the illusion that someone wants you.

No, Gove must view this as a duty, a highly unpleasant one. That's the trouble with these little parliamentary perks: someone always has to pay for them. If possible Dennis thinks even less of Cameron than he did before. Shame on him, sending his minister out to degrade himself like this. How many times has Gove made this same offer to someone less principled than Dennis and had it accepted? It's sleazy and pathetic and despite himself Dennis can't help but feel a bit sorry for the weedy Tory, especially when he reacts to the refusal with a very good facsimile of honest disappointment.

"Are you quite sure, Mr. Skinner?" he asks, pouting forlornly and clasping his erring right hand in his left like a child who's been smacked for reaching into the sweets jar. "You're such a distinguished parliamentarian, I'm sure I could learn a great deal from you with... proper guidance."

There's a certain hopeful emphasis on 'proper guidance', coupled with that pout, that leads Dennis to suspect Gove is offering more than just a blow job. It makes sense of his performance in the House this past year, at any rate. Seduce his colleagues one moment and provoke them the next, and he winds up bent over a desk one way or the other. And afterward no doubt he gives them that pleading pout again, nothing so crass as a demand to be let off the hook in the next debate, but when next they face him across the floor they'll remember with a pang of guilt that they saw him at his most vulnerable and they won't come down too hard. Leathering him is a more enticing option than fucking him, Dennis can't deny it, but he'd be mad to take him up on it.

Still, the way Gove is looking at him, those seductively half-lidded eyes and that expression of tentative hope- It's been an awfully long time since anyone has looked at Dennis like that. The younger Labour MPs revere him as a legend, a sort of ancient tribal god, but no one wants to shag an ancestral deity. At Dennis' age he doesn't much mind; he rarely feels the urge to shag any of them, either. But it's always flattering to feel desirable, and after so many years of drought Gove's adoring gaze goes to his head like hard liquor on an empty stomach. Even knowing the drink is spiked and paid for by the bloody Tories isn't enough to kill the buzz.

Dennis looks down at Gove's clasped hands. He still wants into Dennis' bed, that much is clear, but in obedience to Dennis' silent instruction he's keeping his hands to himself. He can follow orders, at least. Maybe a little too well, if all this is under Cameron's instructions, but Gove seemed so downhearted at Dennis' rejection that Dennis can't quite bring himself to tell him to fuck off. It's the worst sort of folly even to consider this, but after forty-one years of temptation Dennis knows he can trust himself, and if Gove will obey him he can keep things from going too far, keep this from leaking into their work.

What could be the harm? Hundred to one Gove is just looking for a graceful exit strategy, a way to tell himself he's done what he's somehow convinced himself is his duty without actually having to drop to his knees for the Beast of Bolsover. And if not... well, if he genuinely wants Dennis then that's another matter entirely. Dennis can't say he'd _mind_ taking his belt to the arrogant little twerp or finding some better use for that teasing mouth, not and maintain his reputation for unvarnished honesty. He folds his arms across his chest.

"You want my guidance, eh? Well, you’ll never find a politician too shy to give advice, and here’s mine. You do your job today and I'll do mine and no funny business. And then you go back to London and you have a good hard think about what you've been doing, because you're a joke of a minister from an embarrassment of a government from a disgrace of a party, but even you ought to have enough self-respect not to sell yourself like this. If anyone tells you different you tell them to go straight to hell, and that goes double for that prime minister and that coke snorting chancellor of yours."

Gove opens his mouth to protest, but Dennis raises a finger and he falls silent.

"And then, after you've had time to think things through proper, if you still want this, we can go for a drink- not in the Stranger's Bar, in a real pub, one the taxpayers don't subsidize- and we'll see."

Gove's face lights up like Dennis is his first sweetheart who has finally agreed to go to the cinema with him. They go on with the tour, catching up with the headteacher and the local councillors accompanying them in the school’s battered gymnasium, but the Tory’s delighted smile lingers so long that Dennis worries the others will conclude they've been shagging after all. Seeing Gove so pleased he finds he doesn't much care what they think. It's a strange sensation, this pleasure at a Tory's happiness, but not entirely unpleasant, and he wonders if this is how corruption happens, not in one big heave of immorality as he’s always believed, but in little slips and crumblings, like a subsiding roof.


End file.
